Madison Information Processing Data Personal Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

So, this one time, Naples, I think—brothel’s in this crusty alley. Sign’s half broke, says “Paridiso.” Paradise, my ass. Inside, it’s dim, sticky floors, red lights buzzin’ like flies. Lady at the desk, smokin’ a cig, looks me dead in the eye. “Ten minutes, sailor,” she says. I’m like, “Cool, cool,” but in my head? “This ain’t Amélie’s café, fam.” No gnome-travelin’ vibes here—just dudes tryna forget the ocean.